Month: March 2025

Lament for Lost Efforts of a Generation

humanist55

I lament the loss of peace in our time
Stolen, destroyed, blown up on a whim
The new generation of despots craves
The last generation turn in their graves

Craves wealth and power and influence
Acting without thought or sense
No thought at all of how to behave
The last generation turn in their graves

I lament the loss of knowing what’s true
Endless fact checking we must do
Block our ears to he who raves
The last generation turn in their graves

Nothing around us now seems safe
When dogs of war at their leads chafe
Bully boys beat up on the brave
The last generation turn in their graves

I lament their sacrifice laid waste
Blood and death’s most bitter taste
But given for to freedom save
The last generation turn in their graves

Two wars supposed to end all wars
(Bar those in places far, of course)
The sacrifice of those lost brave
The last generation turn in their graves

I lament their struggle was in vain
As fascists come around again
Ask will Democracy be saved
The last generation turn in their graves

To be remembered as the best not worst
In reality, they’ll be roundly cursed
Become the very byword for a knave
The last generation turn in their graves

© Andrew Wilson, 2024

Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Grace in Poetry Forms, invites us to write a Lament using roughly the form:

  • stanzaic, written in any number of quatrains.
  • metered, often iambic or trochaic tetrameter.
  • rhymed, rhyme scheme:   aabB ccbB ddbB etc. B being a refrain

A to Z 2025 – Theme Reveal

humanist55

My Story in 26(ish) Objects…

I confess I am not a great fan of auto-biographies that begin at the beginning and follow a temporal path up to the present day – not that the person might not have some interesting stories, facts and opinions strung on their necklace but it just doesn’t appeal as a structure. On the other hand, in my last, extra year at school in Oxford, retaking an A-level and adding a couple more, I was allowed out of school on my recognisance and saw a fascinating Exhibition at the Modern Art Gallery. The Artist had laid out and photographed every single possession of a single person – for example, all the cutlery was laid out in one shot, all the shoes in another. There is now a term for this type of image – “Knolling” or “Flatlay” and you can find the fascinating origin of this nomenclature here. The memory of this Exhibition (or Exhibit if you are American) has never left me and in addition, the BBC produced a series of programmes (now available as a podcast) A History of the World in 100 Objects, or in book form if you are not able to download from the BBC.

This more thematic approach appeals more and although I am not arranging the objects which I have chosen to tell my story in chronological order, I hope that my writing will be sufficiently interesting to keep your interest Dear Reader, and that on the journey from A to Z, you will assemble an impression of my life and who I am…

Just to give you a little taste of what is to come, the photo below, which is in Knolling style (though not all will be – this A to Z is a sort of metaphorical Knolling) shows the contents of the briefcase I take to work with me on my semi-retired 2.5 days a week…

Top row (left to right) Laptop, Wireless Mouse, Charging Cable, Pocket Book for Analogue Notes, Pens and Highlighter, various papers and copies of my chapbook.
Middle Row, Diabetic Testing Kit, Hairbrush, Folding Toothbrush, Lip balm, Mouthwash, Dry Mouth Spray, Laser Measuring tool and case, Earbud set, Electronics Case
Third Row, Wireless Phone Charger, Plug-in Phone Charger, Superman Power-pack, Various Electronic Cables
Bottom Row, Briefcase, Masks (left over from Covid), Scale Ruler, Folding Shopping Bag, Ibuprofen, Reading Glasses, USB sticks
Lower Right, Multi-tool Pen-knife.

© Andrew Wilson, 2025

What’s In a Name

humanist55

Andrew means “manly” I can live with that though I once had a yen to be Martin
Briefly

My family name is Wilson – Son of William – whoever he was in the mists of history
Unknown

My recently widowed Grandmother demanded I be commemoratively named Arthur
Unwise

Andrew Arthur doesn’t sing right so my rebel parents named me Andrew Frewin
Defied

Frewin – Anglo-Saxon “Frea-ing” – Friend of the Ruler!
No way…

© Andrew Wilson, 2024

Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Laura Bloomsbury in Meeting the Bar: Critique and Craft, invites us to write the poetry of names using a 
WaltMarie poetry style…

10 lines
Even lines are just 2 syllables
Odd lines are longer but without syllable restriction
The even lines make their own mini-poem if read separately
The meter and rhyme are unspecified

And the theme of your poem should be

The history/meaning of your name
or one you wish you had
or an imaginary one

I was born in the gatehouse of Frewin Hall, Oxford which is part of Brasenose College of which my father was then a don. In return for this subsidised college house, part of his duties was to lock the gates at 9pm each night as the students were curfewed in those days – imagine! My Grandfather on my Father’s side died during my Mother’s pregnancy with me and this poem tells the result of the conflict between my domineering Grandmother and my parents…
There is a Frewin family who presumably built Frewin Hall but as far as I know, I am the only person to have Frewin as a middle name, so if you have ever wondered about my “handle” Frewin55, now you know. (I was born 8th March 1955.)

The view through the gateway of Frein Hall – the cottage where I was born at home is on the left and you can find out more about it here

Stardust

humanist55

In the beginning, there was just gas
hydrogen drifting in nebulous clouds
assuming fantastic shapes
within which gravity began to
group the atoms into clumps
flocculating into formless blobs
that swarm and meld together
until the weakest of fundamental forces
is magnified by unimaginable volumes
temperature rising with such pressure
that eventually combustion spontaneously
ignites the first generation of stars

A star is a balancing act
between the explosive force of the burn
versus the constant collapsing
pull of gravity but fire consumes
the star and gravity always wins
and the star is blown to bits
to dust in fact – stardust brings
new elements to the feast for
the greedy, next generation
growing in the nursery of new nebulae

The new stars have more complex
deaths with a series of alternating
explosions and collapses each
one concentrating and crushing
new elements into existence
before blasting them into ever
more varied stardust which will
one day make the flesh and bones
of a big-brained hominid
who will gaze back through
generations of galaxies let alone
stars – back towards where it all began…

© Andrew Wilson, 2024

Over at dVerse Poets Pub,  Melissa Lemay in Poetics invites us to write a poem on the subject – Metamorphosis of Sorts…